


won’t you come around again

by honeykaspbrak



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Canon Divergence, Drinking, Drug Use, Gallavich, Hickeys, Kissing, M/M, gross teens, ian’s a slut and mickey won’t let it slide, it’s just porn okay, just a one shot doesn’t rly fit the storyline, mickey’s POV, nursemaid ian, theyre just fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 06:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15237267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeykaspbrak/pseuds/honeykaspbrak
Summary: mickey’s about to open his mouth to say something witty, but then ian is dabbing the antiseptic all down his thigh and he has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from squealing like a bitch.(he’ll leave that up to ian, in bed later, when mickey has four out of five fingers jammed up his ass.)





	won’t you come around again

**Author's Note:**

> again, people, this is just porn. and not like ,, cute porn, like gross teen boy mickey milkovich porn. enjoy :,)

basically, what mickey has going for him is that he’s a fucking dumbass. not that it isn’t old news, that, but it’s just an _abundantly clear_ fact tonight, and stupid fucking ian won’t _shut up_ about it as he bandages mickey’s thigh with tears of laughter clinging to his stupid pretty red eyelashes. 

and it’s all ian’s fault, really, because being with ian makes mickey reckless and douchey as if he’s trying to impress someone. as if gallagher is _worth_ impressing, but try telling that to mickey’s lizard brain and his dick. 

“ _ow,_ fuck, shut the fuck up.” mickey hisses through teeth that, when he runs his tongue over them, are coated with a gross layer of scum. he tries to remember the last time he brushed his teeth, and does, actually. it was in this very bathroom, maybe three nights ago, with ian’s red plastic toothbrush. god, if that isn’t gay as shit, but ian said he wouldn’t put his dick in mickey’s mouth unless he did it and mickey wasn’t willing to sacrifice _that_.

“if you’d stay fucking still, man, this would be over.” ian is prodding at the pasty skin of mickey’s left thigh, close enough to his cock that mickey has to work on ignoring it, examining the gash that snakes from the hem of his boxer shorts and down halfway to his knee. it’s a wicked-looking cut, but not deep, and ian truly didn’t need to get himself worked up into the 1950s housewife tizzy that he’s in.

“just slap a goddamn bandaid on there, i’m _fine_.” ian looks up at him with this convoluted, furrowed-brow expression, as if mickey just suggested that they go unclog the downstairs toilet for fun, or maybe invite lip to join in a threesome. fucking ROTC training bullshit: ian’s got a little bottle of foul-smelling liquid that he’s pouring out onto a wad of toilet paper, and mickey already knows it’ll sting like hell on his leg. 

“will you stop whining for one minute and just let me do this? fucking pussy.” there’s still all this laughter in ian’s voice, but mickey can’t really be angry at him for it. “i still can’t believe you jumped that fucking fence. i thought the old guy was gonna catch you for sure. give you the pistol whipping of your life.” 

mickey’s about to open his mouth to say something witty, but then ian is dabbing the antiseptic all down his thigh and he has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from squealing like a bitch. 

(he’ll leave that up to ian, in bed later, when mickey has four out of five fingers jammed up his ass.) 

“jesus fuck, gallagher, _ow_.” it occurs to mickey that he’s still a little high, both of them are. because they’re both just fucking _laughing_ , despite it being the middle of the night with ian’s siblings asleep down the hallway, and despite the fact that mickey almost got shot by a redneck who’s yard he was in trying to filch this football so he and ian could go to the park and play. it’s all just fucking funny.

“are you spending the night?” ian says, suddenly solemn which is just like him. mickey doesn’t want to leave, that’s for sure, and in the end of his five second internal debate, that wins out over not wanting to give gallagher any ideas. (ideas like them being a couple, ideas about mickey waking him up with tea and a kiss to the temple. shit like that.) 

“yeah,” he says through still-gritted teeth, and watches ian’s freckle-darkened face slide into a grin as he tapes gauze over mickey’s leg, “sure.” 

ian finishes securing the bandaids and gives mickey this shit-eating grin, sitting back on his heels in front of him. he’s on the floor and mickey is sitting on the closed toilet lid, and for all intents and purposes, it looks like mickey is about to get his dick sucked. 

“are you tired?” ian asks, suddenly, which is a _bitch ass_ thing to say, and, no, mickey isn’t. in fact, his dick has taken a fair bit of interest in the whole situation, in ian looking up at him from the ground with big blown-out puppy eyes. he’s about the furthest from wanting to go to sleep that he’s ever been. 

“nah, bitch. are you?” he hopes with every fiber of his being that ian will say no, because if he goes to sleep mickey will just end up jerking off into the toilet thinking about gallagher’s hands on his thigh, and if he isn’t coming onto ian’s alien-pale skin, what’s really the point?

“not even close.” ian says, voice all purposefully sexy and delicate in a way that makes mickey’s balls tighten. 

“good.” mickey says, and hauls ian up off the tile floor by the shirt collar. ian lets himself be pulled up like he’s putty, lets his head knock back when mickey presses a sloppy fucking hickey into his neck. he hopes it bruises. he hopes everyone notices it and knows what a _fucking slut_ little fakey-pure ian gallagher is. 

“oh, mickey, fuck. fuck fuck _fuck_. shit.” ian, mumbling incoherently, is so warm under mickey’s hands, feels like he has a fever, actually, but it’s probably just the muggy summer night and the coke and alcohol coursing through his veins. 

ian sort of half-regains steadiness on the tile, his knees spread like he’s about to sit down on a cock. (mickey has watched him do that two times before; once, on mickey himself, so mickey could fucking _see_ his impossibly tight asshole spread to accommodate mickey’s cock as he panted out hard and fast and arched his thin, freckly chest to the ceiling. and once on a silicone, suction-cup dildo in the shower, which still ranks in the top five hottest experiences that mickey has ever had. it had taken some goading to get anything up ian’s ass, but the fucking _face_ he made the first time he was filled up, god. mickey sees that face in all his wet dreams.) 

anyways, ian is kneeling on the ground in front of mickey, looking at him from half-fucking-lidded eyes that make mickey want to shove him down and eat him out right then and there.

it’s mickey’s turn to have his shirt grabbed, to be tugged down to gallagher’s lolling tongue and lazy lips. mickey’s expecting a kiss, maybe a hickey, but instead ian hawks back and fucking _spits_ in his face. 

mickey rears back, shouting a little, and ian looks so goddamn _pleased_ with himself that mickey wants to punch him in the throat and then fuck the shit out of him on the bathroom floor. 

“what the _fuck_ , gallagher, fucking disgusting, i don’t-” he’s moving to wipe the goddamn saliva off his cheek when ian lunges up towards his face and _licks it off._ like he’s a fucking cat. 

mickey sort of just stares at him when he sits back with this smug little smile on his perfect little cum-rag face. 

“you’re so fucking _gross_.” mickey manages, but really he’s so hard in his cargo shorts that he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to take them off without blowing his load. 

“and you like it.” ian says, all know-it-all and matter-of-fact, and it infuriates mickey that he’s right. in what world is he supposed to want an overeager mouth whore lapping saliva off his face like it’s fucking ambrosia? in this one, mickey guesses. jesus. 

“couch?” mickey asks, because he’s desperate to feel a cock inside him and because fucking on the tile is far from comfortable and because ian’s bedroom is already stuffed to the brim with sleeping people. 

ian nods, grinning all blearily like he’s already come and is riding that post-fuck high. mickey has the sudden urge to stick his hand into firecrotch’s boxers and make sure that he _hasn’t_. but, honestly, ian can hold out for what feels like hours and (he’s embarrassed to admit it) mickey is hundreds of times more likely to be the one coming untouched in his pants. 

they sneak out of the bathroom, leaving the contents of the gutted first aid kit strewn over the floor, and scurry down the creaky floorboards of the hall. every step is hilarity, with ian darting in front of him and his milk-white asscrack showing out the top of his boxers. mickey makes a move to go down the stairs, but ian tugs at his arm with a wild, hot look on his face. 

“frank isn’t here. and that room has a door. that locks.” that doesn’t sound half bad to mickey, even though he prefers to stay as far away from frank and all that he encompasses as he can.

ian is giggling like a little girl as he pushes open he door, pulls mickey in, and locks it behind them. 

so this is going to be a _proper_ fucking, mickey thinks. the bed, the security that no one will barge in just as ian is coming deep in mickey’s ass, the whole shebang. honestly, a much nicer setup than they usually have. but mickey doesn’t mind fucking ian in alleyways or walk-in coolers or the rusty van that sits in the backyard. mickey wouldn’t mind fucking ian anywhere. 

mickey tackles ian against the wall, jabs him in the ribs with a fist that isn’t meant to hurt, is probably too soft to really feel anyways. mickey is losing his edge. oh well. 

“big tough guy?” ian murmurs, and it’s hot, hot enough that mickey decides to bypass anymore roughhousing they’d be doing and instead half-lifts ian up and sloppily tosses him back onto the bed. 

he looks fucking _skanky_ laying there, all spread-eagled, cock visibly hard in his shorts and hickeys visibly bruising on his neck. mickey tells him as much, gets a moan and a hip buck in return. mickey enjoys it so fucking much, probably to an extent that it’s pervy. he fucking loves being the only one who sees ian for what he is under his clean-cut exterior, his sweet, undeniably innocent grin; a fucking slut. 

mickey crawls onto the bed, over all of ian’s too-long limbs, and straddles him. he’ll get ian back for spitting on him, but not right now. right now, he’s going to go down on gallagher and then he’s going to ride that long fucking dick, and he doesn’t think ian will have any objection to that. 

mickey reaches down and pushes up ian’s t-shirt (it’s got a dumb stylized pin-up type cartoon on it that honestly makes him look _sickeningly_ straight, like if mickey wasn’t grinding back on his cock at this very moment he’d actually be unsure). his chest and stomach already have a sweaty sheen across them, and he sort of smells like B.O., but mickey is a fucking pig and that shit turns him on. 

“ _hnnnngggg._ ” gallagher grunts out when mickey gets a particularly good dig in with his ass. mickey might be the bottom (most of the time) but that doesn’t mean ian isn’t one of those verbose bitch types who’re just so damn _easy_ to take apart and get praise for it. “so good, mick.” 

it’s a nice little ego boost every time, mickey thinks with a smirk. ian’s just so _appreciative_. it’s like he’s never been touched by anyone before, though mickey knows that isn’t true. (he’s heard more than enough about ian’s previous sexcapades to last him a lifetime, thank you very much.) mickey wasn’t getting around half as much as ian was at fourteen. god, _slut_.

“whatcha thinking about?” ian lilts from under him. he’s red in the cheeks, hair messy and stringy with sweat on his forehead. he already looks wrecked. it’s _delicious_. mickey doesn’t say _”oh, just you reaming ass as an eighth grader”_ , instead shoves ian’s shirt up higher and leans forward to bite a hickey into his chest. ian absolutely keens, head falling back against the pillow. “god, mick, fucking suck my dick.”

mickey is more than happy to do that. there are several awkward moments of shuffling, ian thrusting his flat ass up off the bed so mickey can pull his pants and boxers down to his ankles, scooting down to bend over between ian’s thighs, ian struggling to get his jeans off his ankles so mickey can fit in comfortably. but then ian is naked from his ribs down, pretty pink cock making a nice display against his stomach, nested in curly red pubic hair (that drives mickey insane), and mickey is tucked between ian’s long legs on his knees and elbows. 

there’s a beat of absolute quiet, save for the bustle of the street outside (is that a gunshot? mickey ignores it), then ian is grabbing at his own cock and shoving it up against mickey’s mouth. 

mickey softens, complies, lets his jaw drop down so ian can push the whole gagging length of his fucking _monster_ dick down his throat. mickey doesn’t mind admitting that he _loves_ choking on gallagher’s cock. he likes the taste. the helplessness. the way ian sort of half-pushes himself off the bed then collapses back down, the way his eyelids flutter and his whispered, expletive-drenched praise. 

mickey’s mouth is busy so he shoves his hand blindly in ian’s face, prodding until he manages to push three fingers past his dry lips. ian, grunting, gets the message- sucks them back and slicks them up with such sloppy, obscene noises that mickey almost loses his rhythm. 

mickey, who prides himself on being able to multitask, pushes ian’s thighs apart wider with one hand as he drags the spit-soaked fingers back down over ian’s chin. 

_”mick.”_ ian whispers like a diva in a soap opera as mickey nudges his slick fingers over ian’s asshole, tongue and jaw still working around his cock. “just fucking do it.” ian’s voice cracks like he’s twelve and mickey shoves two fingers inside of him. 

he remembers the first time he did this to ian, and how fucking weird but good but _weird_ it felt on his fingers, and thinking that, god, he’d probably get shit on his hands, and was it gross that he didn’t even _care_ because the noises ian was making were better than anything mickey had ever heard? probably. mickey has given up on caring that he’s absolutely fucking disgusting, because ian seems into that too. 

ian’s whole body tenses up, ass squeezing in on mickey’s hand, and mickey lets his cock fall sloppily out of his mouth like he’s seen in porn and then licks it all the way up the shaft until ian relaxes back into the mattress. 

“oh my _god_.” ian wheezes out, and mickey can’t help but grin around a mouthful of dick. 

the whole thing is a balancing act, takes focus. sucking, lapping, swallowing, prodding, twisting, thrusting, adding a third finger, keeping ian’s thighs held apart, trying to breathe through a slightly clogged nose. not an activity for the faint of heart. 

he must hit ian’s prostate, because ian lets out this throaty whine and grabs a fistful of mickey’s hair so tight that it hurts.

“get up here.” gallagher says in this strained, strung-out voice, tugging at the back of mickey’s shirt. mickey pops off his cock, drool all down his chin, and slides his fingers out of ian’s ass. he wipes them on the comforter, _take that, frank_ , and mops the spit off his face (he’s had more than enough of that for one day, that’s for sure). 

“needy, huh?” mickey loves teasing ian. loves how red it makes his face, how frustrated he gets when he’s being denied. it’s fucking perfect. 

ian, absolutely not having it, grabs mickey by the collar and hauls him up to his mouth. the kiss is sloppy and hot, ian’s long-ass tongue lapping at the roof of mickey’s mouth, teeth clashing. 

“sit down on my cock.” ian hisses directly into mickey’s ear, a hand half-wrapped around his throat. jesus christ. mickey almost wants to ask him to say it again, cause he thinks he could come just listening to ian go all bossy-top on him. 

“sounds like a plan, asshole.” he means for there to be more spitfire in his voice, but it really just sounds affectionate, whatever. 

ian is unbuckling mickey’s belt, tossing it off to the side where it clatters to the floor. he’s got these insanely nimble fingers that get the button and zipper of mickey’s shorts undone in record time, so mickey is scrambling off of him reluctantly to pull them off along with his boxers. ian sits half-up and tugs off his shirt, and it stops mickey in his tracks for a second. so much of their fooling around is in secret, fast and barely undressed and silent save for soft grunts into a shoulder or arm. so he barely ever sees ian fully naked, stretched out in all his glory, looking up at him with melty eyes and every inch of his skin patterned with light freckles. 

“you look good.” mickey murmurs, which is about the closest to a compliment that he’ll ever give, even though the words that are really ricocheting in his head are _beautiful_ and _perfect_. 

ian gives him this dazzling smile and holds out a hand, beckoning. mickey takes a step to the side of the bed, so ian can reach him, can pull his shirt over his head. 

“so do you.” he says in this soft, sweet voice, then gets a hand on the back of mickey’s neck and pulls him gracelessly onto the bed. 

there’s fumbling and some accidental kneeing of each other as ian gropes for a condom and lube and mickey tugs at his balls just to see him whine and drop the foil packages onto the bedspread. 

“fuck _off_ , help me get this open.” mickey takes the condom (a fucking magnum, because, yeah, ian can use those) from ian and tears it open with his teeth. 

“mind if i do the honors?” mickey asks him, brows raised, and ian shakes his head fast, biting down all pretty on his bottom lip. 

mickey rolls the condom over ian’s cock slow, just to make him whine, and tosses the wrapper to the floor beside the bed. he hopes frank finds it and knows mickey was defiling his son (sort-of son) in this bed. 

ian’s gotten the lube open with trembling fingers and hands it off to mickey with a smile playing on his lips. 

(ian just likes to _fuck_. mickey’s known that about him since the very first time he got that packing gallagher cock shoved up his ass. he’s enthusiastic and mouthy and moves like a goddamn pro. he likes having his dick in somebody. he likes having it sucked. he likes all of it, and mickey is happy to give it all to him.) 

“hold your fucking horses.” mickey tells him, pouring the cold lube out over his hand. ian half-pouts, eyebrows down, but then mickey is slicking a lubed-up hand over his cock and his eyes shoot wide again. 

mickey gets up onto his knees, positions himself over gallagher’s cock. ian breathes out in a way that’s almost a whistle, which pleases mickey a fuck ton, and grabs at the base of his dick to hold it steady. he puts a warm hand on the small of mickey’s back and then mickey is sinking down and his vision is blinking out at the edges and, _fuck_ , that stretch, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get truly used to it. 

ian fully moans as mickey sits down slow on his cock, eyes squeezed shut against the burn that’s so fucking good. he sounds goddamn delicious when he makes that sound, like he’s falling apart. 

“holy shit, mickey, holy shit, you’re taking that so fucking good. you look so good on my cock. holy _fuck_.” that’s another thing, ian gets fucking _chatty_ when his dick is being ridden. mickey just grunts, squeezes his hands into ian’s shoulders. he’s probably digging his nails in hard enough to hurt, but ian doesn’t seem to mind. 

there, he’s fully seated, ass cheeks flush with ian’s pale thighs. _fuck_. it hurts, in a good way but almost not. ian is still, waiting for him to adjust to it. the little bastard almost looks bashful, as in, _sorry my cock is so fucking big! whoops!_ christ. 

mickey wiggles, takes a breath, uses his knees to push a few inches up then sink back down. _fuck._ okay. there we go. 

“move.” he grunts out, scraping the nails of his left hand down ian’s chest (it’s just beginning to sprout thicker red hair, mickey notices. that makes him smile, just a little bit).

“move?” ian repeats, like he’s absolutely dense. 

“yes, fucking _move_.” then he does, thrusts up hard, and, _wow_ , mickey is seeing stars (gay as that sounds).

“there?” ian asks, annoyingly, because mickey let out this bitchy squeal so ian _knows_ he hit his prostate. mickey just nods, closes his eyes, and rides ian like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. 

ian’s being loud, and the walls in this house are thin, but mickey can’t really bring himself to care. he’s gonna be coming in five minutes, tops, if ian keeps up like this. it’s hard to focus on lasting when ian fucking gallagher is pounding his guts raw. 

“oh my _god_ , gallagher, give it to me. harder, pussy. c’mon, harder.” ian grabs mickey’s hips and really gives it his all, but mickey loves to fuckin’ tease him and he doesn’t shut up. “let’s _go_ private ryan-“

the words are barely out of his mouth before ian has flipped him over into the mattress and is pounding him from above, eyes absolutely ferocious. mickey could die. he feels like he’s being split open, just fucking cored on gallagher’s cock, and holy _fuck_ nothing has ever felt better. 

ian gets a hand around mickey’s dick, and in two tugs he’s coming with a low groan all over ian’s hand and stomach. ian swears under his breath and shoves two jizzy fingers into mickey’s mouth. he’s tasting his own spunk, which is fucking gross, but ian is still pummeling into his hyper-sensitive hole and _jesus fuck, gallagher, i ought to get you wound up more often._

ian comes understatedly, with a grunt and a row of teeth to mickey’s already-bruised shoulder. mickey collapses into him, breathing in the stink of his skin for a long moment until the cock still inside him gets uncomfortable and he rolls off and sinks into the bed. 

“mmm.” ian murmurs, chest heaving with his breath as he ties off the condom. “good one, milkovich.” 

mickey, suddenly overcome by the realization that it’s past four in the morning and that ian gallagher is the best thing he’s ever gonna get in his life, barely manages to roll over into ian’s side before passing out into a content, dreamless sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> how was this? i hope you all enjoyed!!


End file.
